


Satisfaction Guaranteed

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Prank Wars, Revenge Sex, Sex Worker Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 10:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Peter isn’t one of those escorts you can just hire by the hour. He laughs when anyone suggests it. “An hour? How am I meant to satisfy you properly in an hour? We’ll barely be getting started.” He’s reasonable about it, though. He charges two flat fees – one until midnight, one for all night, full refund guaranteed if it isn’t the best sex of his client’s life.





	Satisfaction Guaranteed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/gifts), [Maladicta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maladicta/gifts).



> Heeey, have a late kinktober fic for the sex worker prompt! It went a different direction than I thought, but I had fun. I hope you do too!  
> Full disclosure, I'm posting this after several glasses of wine and only a quick read through, so some typos may have escaped the corral and run wild. Don't worry, I'll round them up later.  
> This one's for Twisted_Mind and Maladicta, for always cheerleading when I throw an idea at them, and trusting that I do know what I'm doing, sometimes.

 

Peter hums to himself in the elevator as he makes his way to the top floor of the Beacon Hotel – the penthouse, of course. He doesn’t know exactly what he’ll find when he gets there, but the name Whittemore was enough for him to take the booking for a night, even though Helen normally texts him herself. Helen's one of his favorite clients, an absolute sweetheart of a woman who just wants to be wanted. And sometimes, to play pretend.

Peter assumes this is one of those times; that he’ll get to the penthouse and find Helen waiting with a costume ready for him. He vaguely wonders whether it will be the Showgirl and the Piano player, or her other favorite, the Heiress and the Pool Boy. She does love him in a speedo. He pops a breath mint, just to ensure he’s as pleasant smelling and well-groomed as can be - he’s nothing if not professional.

Peter doesn’t do this for the money. He does it for the thrill of taking his customers apart, making them come harder and more often than they ever thought they could. He does it for the rush of power he gets when he sees someone like Helen Whittemore spread out beneath him, her head back and eyes closed, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead as she pants and begs for more. 

The money’s nice too, though.

Peter isn’t one of those escorts you can just hire by the hour. He laughs when anyone suggests it. “An hour? How am I meant to satisfy you properly in an hour? We’ll barely be getting started.” He’s reasonable about it, though. He charges two flat fees – one until midnight, one for all night, full refund guaranteed if it isn’t the best sex of his client’s life. Nobody’s ever asked for a refund, a fact Peter’s quietly smug about.

Peter enters the penthouse, but there’s no costume and no Helen. He strips off his tie, socks and shoes, undoing his top three buttons. Then he makes sure the condoms and lube are on the bedside table for easy access - Peter’s nothing if not prepared. He checks his hair in the bathroom mirror and frowns, before running his hands through it a few times, giving it a softer, messier look. He nods at his reflection, satisfied.

Just then there’s a knock at the door. Peter opens it to find a young man standing there, tall and attractive and delicious and most definitely not his client. The young man stares for a moment and blurts out, ”You’re not the lacrosse team,” just as Peter says “You’re not Helen.” They stare at each other for a moment before Peter steps aside and gestures for the kid to come in. The young man hesitates before entering the room.

“I was meant to be meeting a friend – well, kinda friend, here. He said they were having a party, and there’d be single guys and beer and _oh fuck he was fucking pranking me that asshole!_ I’ll kill him! I’m so sorry, you’re probably just some dude and you have no idea what’s going on do you? Fucking Jackson, thinks it’s funny, wait till I see him,” the young man prattles on, before being interrupted by the ping of his phone. He gives Peter an apologetic glance as he pulls his phone out, and Peter catches a glimpse of the message - **Surprise, loser, you're getting laid**.  It causes the young man to go bright red, and start swearing. He turns his back on Peter and dials someone, and Peter hears, “What the fuck, Jax?” There’s some murmured conversation, and from what Peter can pick up, it seems he’s been hired as some sort of cruel joke. He frowns to himself - Peter has no time for casual cruelty, unless its' coming from him. He hears “This is because I got the Porsche towed, isn’t it?” and “ I don’t need to hire someone to get laid, asshole, it’s just a dry spell!”

He sits in one of the armchairs and waits patiently until the young man gets off the phone. He’s been getting angrier the longer the call went on, ending in the kid exclaiming, “Fuck you too, Whittemore, I’ll get you back for this!” before throwing his phone across the room. Peter’s lips quirk up into a smile, amused at the vehemence with which the phone was thrown. The young man turns to face him, and his face is flaming, either from embarrassment or anger, Peter’s not sure which. He does know that that the high color on the young man’s cheeks looks delightful, and he’d like to see it there for a different reason.  He wonders if there’s a way he can charm this boy into his bed.

The kid extends his arms out to the side in an embarrassed shrug, and says, “So, uh, my friend’s kind of an asshole. He thought it would be funny to set me up with you. Which, obviously it’s not fucking funny at all. It’s a shitty thing to do, and now you’re here and I guess it means you won’t get paid. No offence, it’s not that I’m not interested, because I’d take you home and get all up in that if I saw you in a bar, but fucking Jackson…” he trails off.

Peter eyes him, assessing.  He stands and extends a hand. “I’m Peter. Pleased to meet you.” The kid shakes his hand instinctively. “So, from what I can gather, your friend, one Jackson Whittemore, set you up with a sex worker to embarrass you, as part of some…prank war?”

The boy takes a moment to answer, and Peter sees the way his eyes linger on where their hands are joined. “Stiles. And yeah, the guy’s one of those shitty friends that you can never quite trust. God knows how I’ll get him back for this.”

Peter lets go of Stiles’s hand and walks over to the minibar. He opens it and pulls out two beers, holding one out to Stiles. “You are twenty-one, I assume?”

Stiles nods. “Yeah. But don’t run up your room tab for me, I’ll just go.”

Peter twists the top off the beer and hands it over. “It’s not my tab – my client pays for the room. That would be your friend.” He looks at Stiles consideringly, and Stiles squirms under Peter’s gaze.

“What?” he demands.

Peter hums. “I’m assuming from your comment about taking me home that you’re not against the idea of sleeping with men in general?”

Stiles unconsciously hunches down a little when he replies. ”I guess you could  say college opened my eyes to some things. I like dick. So what?”

Peter smiles, and he knows exactly how he looks when he steps into Stiles’s space, a mix of charming and predatory. “Did you know Stiles, that they say the best revenge is living well?” he whispers into his ear, and he hears Stiles’s breath hitch. “I know exactly how you can get your revenge on Jackson. Interested?”

Stiles takes a half-step backwards, but his eyes are alight with curiosity. “Yeah?”

Peter takes another drink, making sure to tilt his head back so his muscled neck is on full display. When he takes the bottle away, he lets his tongue sweep out over his lips, noting the way Stiles’s eyes track the movement. Excellent. “The thing is,“ he croons, ”I have your friends’ credit card details. And do you know what I think would annoy him more than anything?” He steps in closer and cups a hand along Stiles’s cheek, moving slowly, giving Stiles a chance to refuse. “What if you took him up on his generous offer, and stayed? I have a special menu of services I could offer you, and they’re all very expensive. We could work our way through it, and he could foot the bill.”

Stiles bites his lip as he thinks about it, and Peter wants nothing more than to reach out and tug it from between those teeth, see it red and swollen, but he waits for a reply. “You don’t have somewhere else to be?” he finally asks. “I don’t wanna, you know, mess with your livelihood.”

Peter smirks at that. “Stiles, I promise you won’t be messing with my livelihood. The amount I’m going to charge your friend for this is going to be frankly obscene.  If you want this, I’m yours for the night.”

Stiles blinks at that, and Peter takes a chance and trails his hand down Stiles’s throat. “The things I could do to you, sweet boy,” he murmurs, and he sees Stiles shudder.

His voice cracks the tiniest bit as he says, “Well, uh, yeah, yes please?”

Peter grins, sharklike. He's going to have so much fun.

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing they do is open the $300 champagne in the minibar, and Stiles takes a selfie of himself with the bottle and sends it to Jackson. **Wow, this room has some really nice stuff, thx Jax** he captions it. He snickers as he hits send. “I think we should send him pics all night, let him know I’m getting my money’s worth,” Stiles declares.

Peter snorts. “That’s an excellent idea. But you should only send them every couple of hours, that way you’ll break up his sleep better. Besides,” he adds as he strips off his jacket and undoes the rest of his shirt buttons,” I’m hoping you’ll be too busy to even think of taking pictures.”

Stiles watches as Peter slides his shirt off and hangs it on the back of a chair. He licks his lips, and Peter arches a brow at him. “Like what you see?” Stiles nods, and Peter steps right up close to him and takes his hand, guiding it up to his bared chest. “Feel free to touch, sweetheart. Feel free to do to anything you’d like, actually.”

Stiles hesitates. “I want to, but it’s - this is a little weird for me okay? Like, am I forcing you because you’re getting paid? Are you even okay with this? I just don’t want you to feel like you have to – “Peter shushes him with a finger to his lips.

“Sweetheart, to quote something I heard recently, I’d happily take you home and get all up in that. You’re exactly my type. Trust me when I say _I want this_.” He runs and hand down Stiles’s back and pulls him close enough that his erection’s obvious through the cloth of their pants. “Does that feel like you’re making me do this?” he asks, pressing forwards.

Stiles looks at Peter's face intently, searching for something there. He must find it, because he leans in and kisses Peter, just a quick thing, before pulling away. “ Is that okay? I mean, I know you aren’t meant to kiss –“  Peter silences him not with a finger to his lips this time, but by pressing their lips together firmly, pressing the tip of his tongue against the seam of Stiles’ mouth until he opens for him, then tilting his head so their lips slot into place and he can kiss Stiles properly. Peter puts everything he has into the kiss, making it passionate and hungry, exploring Stile’s mouth delicately, tasting the champagne flavor there.

When he pulls away, Stiles’s lips are red and swollen, his breathing rapid and his cheeks flushed, and Peter takes a moment to admire his handiwork. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs into Stiles’s ear, “Stop thinking so hard, and just let me make you feel good.” Peter kisses down the side of his throat, and Stiles lets out a small, breathless _yes_. Peter smiles against the skin of his neck, and goes to work.

 

* * *

 

Peter smiles as he helps peel Stiles out of his shirt, pops the button on Stiles’s jeans, and slowly eases his zipper down. He wraps his hands around Stiles’s hips and holds him in place, kissing him again, and he doesn’t do anything else until he senses Stiles fully relaxing into their kisses, feels him starting to get hard. Only then does he guide Stiles to the bed and ease him down onto his back. “Tell me baby, what would you like?” Peter asks quietly, lying on the bed next him.

Stiles makes grabby hands, and Peter moves closer. Stiles wraps his hands around the back of Peter’s head and pulls him in for more kisses. When they part, he says, “Depends. What can Jackson’s hard-earned dollars buy me?”

Peter pretends to think about it. “I’d recommend the Ultimate Boyfriend Experience. It’s expensive, but worth it, though I do say so myself. I’ll be your devoted lover for the night. All you have to do is trust me, and I guarantee you the best night of your life.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Guarantee?”

Peter rolls so he’s hovering over Stiles, bracketing him with his elbows. “ _Guarantee_ , sweetheart. We’ll do anything you want.”

Stiles reaches around and grabs at Peter’s ass through his suit pants. “What I _want_ , is for us to get naked,” he breathes. Peter kisses Stiles once more before he strips them both down.

“Better?”

“Better.” Stiles lets out a satisfied sigh as he looks Peter up and down.  “Damn, you’re pretty all over. How am I meant to decide what I want?” He leans in and wraps a hand around Peter’s hard cock, stroking it once. “I mean I want this, obviously.”

Peter closes his eyes and savors the contact for a moment. He’s going to enjoy this. “How about you let me choose for you?” he suggests. “I’m certain I can think of a few things you’ll like.” Stiles nods, eyes still focused on Peter’s cock. That gives Peter an idea. “Get your phone, and we’ll take a few shots to send to Jackson. Let him know you’re getting value for money.”

Stiles snorts, and grabs the camera. They take a shot of Peter’s cock with Stiles’s hand wrapped around it. Then they take a body shot where his chest and thighs are clearly visible, and it’s obvious that he’s generously endowed. Stiles sends the pics with the caption **Objects may be larger than they first appear.**

They don’t bother waiting for a reply. Instead Peter pins Stiles to the bed and spends the next half hour exploring his body. He discovers that Stiles is extremely sensitive to fingers running softly up his sides, as well as having his nipples played with. Stiles squirms and moans beneth him as Peter sucks and flicks at the tiny nubs until they harden under his touch, before tugging at them with his teeth. That makes Stiles hiss, but it also causes his hips to buck up into Peter, and his cock to throb. Peter takes his mouth away long enough to call Stiles, “My perfect boy.” He doesn’t miss the shiver than runs through Stiles’s body at the words.

He sucks and teases Stiles’s nipples till they’re red and puffy, and wraps a hand around Stiles’s dick, stroking slowly, knowing it won’t be enough to get him off. The sounds Stiles is making are glorious, and Peter soaks them all up. “That’s my good boy,” he soothes, and there it is again, that little shiver. Peter grins to himself – this just got so much sweeter. “Can I mark you, baby? Would you like that, for me to bruise your pretty white skin?” he asks.

“Yeah, want that,” Stiles pants out. Peter sets to work, his mouth wet against Stiles’ pale flesh, working a scattering of bruises up Stiles’s side where he’s sensitive, hearing a litany of _ohgodohgodohgod_ as he suckles and bites his way up. He sets his mouth against the curve of Stiles’ neck and _bites_ , and the keening sound that comes from Stiles is music to his ears. He loosens his grip around Stiles’s cock just long enough to sweep his hand up and over the head, gathering the precome that’s gathered there and spreading it down Stiles’ shaft. With the extra slickness, it’s easy to set a faster pace, and Stiles fucks up into his hand, head back, the cords of muscle in his throat standing out with the strain of it. Peter starts to suck at the bite mark, and Stiles pants out a chorus of _oh! oh! oh!_  in time with the strokes. Peter makes his strokes a little rougher, and increases the suction. Stiles swears, and thrusts up into his hand once as he comes, his cock spurting over Peter’s hand and his own belly. Peter takes his mouth away and kisses Stiles gently on the forehead.

Stiles looks dazed, and his mouth opens and closes once or twice as he struggles to speak. In the end, all he manages is a whine. Peter soothes him with soft kisses, and calls Stiles his good boy, before saying, ”Have a rest, sweetheart, and then we’ll play a little more.”

Stiles blinks at that. “You mean that’s not it?”

Peter feels like there’s an insult in there somewhere, honestly. “Stiles, if that was the best night of your life, then you’ve been sorely neglected in the bedroom.”

Stiles shakes his head, still a little high on post orgasmic endorphins. “Not neglected. Just always in a hurry.”

Peter frowns. “You should never rush the important things, sweetheart. Will you be my good boy and let me spoil you tonight? Let me take you apart until you can’t remember your own name?”

Stiles grins, slow and lazy. “Will you call me your good boy while you do it?” His cheeks pink a little as he admits, “I really like it.”

Peter feels a surge of want at the sight of Stiles like this, spread out and ready for him, marked and claimed as his, willing to let him take control. “Of course I will, baby. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

 

* * *

 

 

Four hours later, Stiles _can_ remember his own name, but just barely.  He’s never been so well fucked by anybody, male of female, in his life. Peter spent what seemed like hours getting to know his body, running his hands over his flesh, sucking his cock, eating him out, fucking him hard and deep just like Stiles asked, and then, _then,_ he happily let Stiles fuck him in return.  Stiles doesn’t get to top much, something about the way he looks makes people assume certain things, but when he’d asked, Peter hadn’t even seemed surprised, just nodded as though he was expecting the request. Stiles smiles to himself as he thinks about the way Peter opened up for him, sweet and pliant as he worked his fingers in and out. Stiles had taken his time, fucked Peter slow and deep, staving off his orgasm as long as he could, pulling out when he was close and taking deep, controlled breaths in an effort to make it last. When he finally did let himself come, it was one of the most intense orgasms, he’s ever had, fuelled in part by Peter purring in his ear, “That’s my good boy, let go for me baby.”

He’d possibly taken a small unscheduled nap afterwards, but that just meant that when he woke an hour later, he’d had the energy to do it again. Peter had smiled widely when he suggested it, in a way that Stiles is certain couldn’t have been faked. And Peter certainly hadn’t been faking when he came on Stiles cock, breathing out his name like a prayer as he spilled on the sheets. Stiles would swear that he’d actually pleased the other man, and the knowledge brings him a deep sense of satisfaction.

His dick throbs when he thinks of the way Peter had looked stretched around his cock, but he pays it no mind – he won’t be coming again any time soon. He snuggles against Peter’s side, enjoying the fingers carding through his hair. Peter’s surprisingly cuddly, and not at all what Stiles expected. Aside from the initial misunderstanding, Stiles has to admit, this has been incredible. Quite apart from the mind blowing sex, Peter’s an evil asshole, and Stiles really likes that about him. He and Stiles have spent the time between sessions cackling as they plan what to call the extra charges that Peter’s racking up to Jackson’s card, and sending him inappropriate pics in the middle of the night.

There’s a shot of Stiles’ chest and belly marked with love bites and covered in come. A picture of all the used condoms in the trash. The bottle of lube, nearly empty. A selfie of Stiles with bed hair, hickeys, and a fucked out grin, and the caption **Getting value for your money, Jax.** **Thx a million**

“Penny for your thoughts, baby?” Peter’s voice pulls him back.

“Mmm. Just wondering if we should put a charge on there for fisting.” Stiles mumbles.

Peter’s hand stills in his hair. “Is that something you want to try?” he asks.

Stiles shakes his head vigorously. “Nope. I’m not that brave. But can you  imagine Jackson’s face when it turns up on his bill?”

He feels Peter’s laugh as it rumbles through his chest. “You’re truly a terrible person, “

Stiles shrugs. “Probably. But he deserves it.“ Peter laughs again, and rolls them over so he’s on top of Stiles, kissing him hungrily. “I don’t think I can, Peter,” Stiles whines, but his body makes a liar of him as his dick starts to stir and fill.

“Are you sure? I could just keep your cock warm in my mouth for a while, if you like?” Stiles reflects that that idea sounds _far_ hotter than it has any right to.

“Please.” Peter kisses his way down Stiles’s body and wraps his talented mouth around Stiles’s half hard cock, and just rest like that, suckling nice and soft and sliding his tongue lazily up and down the shaft. Stiles hardens further under the gentle touches, and soon he’s fully erect, rocking his hips in an effort to get more friction. “More, Peter,” he moans, and Peter obeys, proceeding to give Stiles the slowest, yet most devastatingly thorough blowjob he’s ever received. Stiles feels his climax creeping up on him, but it’s not fast and desperate like it normally is. Instead it’s like a slow wave of intensity, the need inexorably increasing until finally it overwhelms him, and he spills the barest traces of come down Peter’s throat with no warning.

Stiles lays there panting, and when he looks down he sees Peter grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I knew you had one more.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles grumbles, but he’s smiling. “I’m done for sure now, though.”

“Oh, definitely,” Peter agrees. He moves back up the bed and they curl up together.

Stiles lies there for a minute before asking, ”So what now? Do I leave?”

Peter shakes his head. “Now, we get some sleep, and in the morning we order everything off the room service menu.”

Stiles stretches and yawns. Sleep does sound appealing, but he has to check. “You don’t mind if we just lie here?”

“Sweetheart, in a lot of ways this is my favorite part of the job,” Peter assures him, dropping a kiss to the top of Stiles’s head. Stiles just hums, and curls up closer. If Peter wants to hold him while he sleeps, he’s not going to argue.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re woken by Stiles’s phone going off at 6 am.

“WHAT THE FUCK, STILES? WHAT THE FUCK?” screams Jackson.

Stiles blinks and rubs a hand down his face. “Mmm?’” is all he can manage.

“My bank just called me asking if my card’s been stolen! They said there’s been a lot of unusual activity!”

Stiles hears the edge of panic in Jackson’s voice, and nudges Peter before putting the phone on speaker. “Really?”

“Yes, asshole! They said that someone’s racked up a whole list of charges, and that I’ve reached my limit.  Then they read them out to me!”

“What was on the list, Jax?” Stiles asks, his tone all innocence.

Jackson spits the words like bullets. “Eating that divine ass. Bottoming, just this once. Cock sucking. Fucking a pretty boy into next week. _Fisting._ Really, Stiles?“

Stiles can’t contain his laughter and he hoots down the phone while Jackson swears and tells him it’s not funny, dammit, his bills get paid through the accountant and he has to go over every item with her. When Stiles has stopped laughing and can speak again, he tells Jackson, “What can I say? You said I needed to get laid,” before hanging up and turning off his phone. He turns to Peter, curious. “How much, exactly, did you charge Jackson for last night?”

Peter’s answering smile is pure mischief. “Seven thousand dollars.”

Stiles stares, speechless, and then he laughs so hard he falls over sideways on the bed. Tears are streaming down his face and he’s still giggling when Peter helps him sit up again. “So, successful revenge?” Peter asks, a twinkle in his eye.

Stiles snickers helplessly. “So, so successful. Thank you.”

“Oh sweetheart, it really was my pleasure. Now, would you like to join me for a shower?” Peter slips out of bed naked and heads for the bathroom. Stiles watches his ass as Peter walks away, before following. They’re in there a long time, and Stiles get to tick blowing someone in the shower off his bucket list. When they finally emerge, Stiles is quiet as they dress. He wishes there was a way they could do this again, but he knows that Peter’s well out of his price range, and he suspects it would just be uncomfortable if he hired him again, anyway. He’ll just have to be content with this.

As Peter’s leaving though, he turns to Stiles. “You never did tell me. Did you enjoy yourself?”

Stiles stares, openmouthed for a moment. “You – you even have to _ask?_ I got to have lots of fantastic sex with a hot guy who’s a  bigger asshole than me, _and_ I got to screw Jackson over. I don’t think it gets any better than that.”

Peter nods to himself. He only hesitates for a moment before pulling a business card out of his pocket. He holds it out to Stiles. ““Stiles, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time, and considering what I do for a living, that’s saying something.  I’d like to do it again, sometime. Off the clock, so to speak.”

Stiles eyes the card, but doesn’t take it. “Like, get together like normal people?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Yes Stiles, like normal people. I’d like to take you on a date. Unless you have any objection to my profession?” It’s almost a challenge.

Stiles smiles and takes the card, saying “No objection at all. I’m just surprised you’re interested. I thought you’d be out of my league, honestly.”

Peter smiles, and pulls Stiles close, kissing him deeply. “Call me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, before letting go and slipping out the door.

After he leaves, Stiles sits on the bed, grinning to himself.  He wonders what Peter will say when Stiles tells him about his adventures as a camboy  in college.

 


End file.
